toasting-forks could be
worse than his present torment.

He was pursuing this agreeable train of reflection, when the removal of
the table to a corner of the room, and a general commotion, occasioned
by the pushing back of sofas, and the laying away of chairs, made him
aware that dancing was about to commence. The men, as they always do on
these occasions, clustered together near the door, pulling on
gloves--such of them as had them--and talking very thick and fast about
nothing at all.

"Miss Gingerly, may I ask you to give the young folks a set of
quadrilles?" inquired Mrs Greenwood.

"Certainly--with a great deal of pleasure," coldly responded Miss
Gingerly, blowing her nose with the end of her pocket-handkerchief,
which she extracted partially from her black satin bag for the purpose,
and feeling particularly venomous at being cut out of the dance, and her
very, very faint chance of captivating a partner therein.

"Oh, thank you," said Miss Eggemon, laying her hands affectionately on
Miss Gingerly's wrists. "You play quadrilles so nicely." And then
turning to Miss Jemima Linton, Miss Eggemon whispered, confidentially,
"Such a player you never heard. Not three bars in time. How provoking
Mrs Greenwood should ask her to play. Just listen; did you ever hear the
like of that?"

Miss Gingerly had laid her black satin bag on the piano, drawn herself
up with all the frosty-faced dignity of waning maidenhood, and was
performing a prelude before commencing operations, which was chiefly
remarkable for its ingenious flights from key to key, and bewildering
accumulation of false concords.

"Gentlemen, find partners for yourselves," said the lively Mrs
Greenwood; and the gentlemen, after looking at one another, disentangled
themselves from the knot into which they were gathered, and, shuffling
up each to the lady that pleased his fancy, solicited the honour of her
hand. The couples had taken their places, and Miss Gingerly was dashing
away into the heart of the "Highland Laddie," when it was discovered
that there was still a couple awanting.

"Mr Silky, you dance?" said all the men at once to that gentleman, who
was sitting pensively in a corner.

"Oh, really!" replied Silky, smiling a sickly smile, and making vague
protestations of inability.

"Not dance!" said the vivacious Mr Slap'emup. "Fie on you!--oh, fie! And
Miss Linton looking at you there, like Eve on the eve of Paradise, as if

'She would be woo'd, and